Relief
by Slycmase
Summary: If there was one thing that he loved more than the music of his beloved instrument, it was the stillness of the air.


It was unbearably dark.

Quiet.

If there was one thing that he loved more than the music of his beloved instrument, it was the stillness of the air.

One step. Two tentacles forward. Three more strides.

One could mean loneliness. Two could mean companionship or rivalry. Three could be oddness, jealousy, or third wheel. So many combinations adding to infinity. Numbers could be so beneficial, wouldn't you agree? It could measure something as innocent as how many cups of coffee you drank this morning, to how many bullets are needed to blast someone's brains out. Hint: With perfect accuracy? One. But if one would want to bring extra pain, shoot them in the stomach instead. Their stomach acid eating away their insides would make them beg for death.

But numbers, the perfect rhythm of music, or even his usual brand of thinking about the ways to torture those who have hurt him, was not in his mind.

Faced with one of his most hated being, he glared at his own reflection in the mirror.

It was not the first time he'd faced with this adversary. The one who caused all the faults he had: himself. Of course it was his own fault he wasn't rich and famous. Of course it was him that everybody hated. And no, nobody else is to blame, no matter how hard he'd tried to pin the blame to someone, anyone else.

It was his art that always gets a scoff, sarcastic comments, and harsh tones. "More like belongs in the trash!", a comment so throw-away that the critic probably never even gave it a second thought. Yes, it wasn't that person's liking, but does his art needed to be judged so low? So degradingly?

He couldn't even do what he love most of the time without being interrupted, maimed, or sent to a fit of rage by the idiotic duo living on either side of his house. If he deserved to live in his own version of hell was still up for debate. He'd never been nice, and given the chance, he would be intentionally malicious.

But he was done.

Tired.

Drained of everything that once might have cause him even a small inkling happiness.

Finished.

Gave up all pretense of resistance.

Lost.

Yet it seemed like someone wasn't about to let him go.

He ran away from that high pitched, carefree laughter. He ignored that one small tear that escaped, and hurried upstairs to the only place he'd ever felt safe: His bedroom. He forced the shakiness of his arms to stop as he dragged the chair to that one particular spot. Above him was the one ceiling beam strong enough to bear his weight, which led to him questioning whether he'd known it would led to this, when he first bought the tiki house.

Steadily, he gripped the thick, coarse rope and removed the cage of the Scallop he'd once intended to cheer him up.

He set on tying the rope to a noose. It should've been over in a flash, if only the suckers in his tentacles would cooperate. But they wouldn't.

So he attempted to tie it again. And again.

Frustrated, he gave off a wail. Ashamed that he couldn't even do this right. That even he had been beaten so many times, he didn't even have the courage to end his suffering.

"Squidward, what are you doing?" A familiar voice, filled with childlike innocence and familiar intrusion asked. Spongebob arrived in his room in the usual manner, breaking in without remorse.

The octopus didn't know what possessed him to bite back, "What do you think?!", as scathing as possible. He shouldn't be humoring his tormentor. He shouldn't let this hated person walk in on him in his moment of weakness. And yet he didn't reprimand as the Sponge took a step closer, the opened hallway door illuminating part of the bedroom.

He watched the Sponge's eyes- full of inquiry and confusion- scan the room. The chair, the rope: it would be obvious to anyone with a brain. The childish male's bright blue eyes widened in response, mouth curving into a bright smile with so much gusto. "You're getting a scallop?! Squid, I never knew you were into shelled pets!"

An unfamiliar emotion seized the octopus, and he exhaled. The rope fell limply to the ground, taking the Cephalopod with it. There was a strained silence when Squidward fell to the ground, laughing. It wasn't the Sponge's enthusiastic laughter, or even the Cephalopod's usual nose- wrinkling one. It was a laugh of hysterical disbelief, one that could make anyone wonder if the one laughing was clinically insane. His sides hurt, and tears leaked from his eyes.

Confused on why his friend was laughing, Spongebob watched on but joined within a few seconds later. He didn't know why Shelled pets appealed as humor to the Cephalopod, and probably never will. But he was glad- his friend had shut off himself not for the first time, and he had started to wonder if the Octopus had sunk into depression again. If he picked up the disturbing edge to his friend's laughter, he didn't comment.

Their voices gave an odd contrast to the dark room. Their laughter bounced of the walls, the small lapse in Squidward's cynicism welcome.

Squidward held himself close, curling into a ball. A yellow hand held the octopus close, an arm slinged on a show of camaraderie. A lump rose in the Cephalopod's throat. He didn't register the physical gesture as his laughter dissolved in their entirety, leaving him sobbing in a 360 reversal. Tears fell on after the other as the octopus cried out all his repressed emotions.

The Sponge's arms tightened in their hold, thoughts struggling as he tried to keep up with his friend's scrambled emotions. He'd stopped smiling when he heard the first sob, and he hoped it will end again soon.

"Leave it to you, Sponge," Squidward choked out in between his shaking, "You always see the light in everything, huh?" Yet there was no real bite, venom, bitterness or sarcasm. At that moment, there was only tears and a Cephalopod pouring out his soul.

"I don't know what you mean." The Sponge answered, confused. "It's dark here."

The Octopus responded with another round of sobbing. Any attempt he had to talk would come like a caveman's grumble, since his mind was muddled and mouth filled with sobs. He couldn't understand why he would be breaking down now.

Spongebob held Squidward in his arms, not even caring if he was being used as comfort pillow as long as his friend felt hopefully better. The Sponge was worried for a bit when the Cephalopod's shaking felt like it was gonna grow worse, but it eventually faded, leaving only the silent weeping of a broken Octopus.

They stayed like that for a while, Squidward grabbing onto Spongebob for dear life, making him like some sort of a personal anchor as they sat not even three feet away from a decision that would've taken the Cephalopod's life.

When the Octopus finally came to his senses, he felt comfortably numb- the weight of doom and self-loathing fading away as he simply soaked up the odd sense of relief.


End file.
